Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lucy separated fromthe duke and made her way back toward her parents, conscious of people’s stares.
“You’ve managed to keep your dress stain-free,” a female voice said.
Lucy stiffened and turned.
Lady Letitia rolled her gaze over her, and Lucy stiffened.
Lady Letitia had already done multiple seasons, a fact that might have made her a cautionary tale, were she less elegant or beautiful. Instead, Lady Letitita’s experience only served to bolster her standing. She knew everyone and seemed to perpetually smirk whenever she saw Lucy, as if detailing the things wrong with Lucy brought her inexplicable joy.
Now though, no smirk was on her face.
“The duke just danced with you.”
“Yes,” Lucy replied, “that’s true.”
“But he’s a duke.”
“Indeed.” Lucy’s lips twitched, and she struggled not to laugh.
Confusion continued to build on Leticia’s face, marring its otherwise perfection.
“Even the duke desires to dance from time to time,” Lucy said.
“Not very often,” Leticia said, “and not . . . ” Leticia bit her tongue and did not say with you.
The words may as well have been uttered.
Lady Letitia narrowed her eyes. “Why is the duke so eager to dance with you?”
“Because he enjoys it.” Lucy raised her chin. That, certainly, was true.
Lady Letitia shook her head. “I doubt it. That man has made a point of never dancing more than one dance with a woman for years. And now he brings your parents to speak with his mother?”
“Men can change.”
“Not for you.”
Suddenly, Lucy felt very cold. Lady Letitia continued to assess her, and Lucy had a horrible thought that Lady Letitia might know.
That was ridiculous.
She couldn’t know. No one did.
Lucy gave Leticia a bright smile, as if she had not just said things that had made her heartrate quicken.
She spotted the duke at the punch table and sauntered toward him.
Harrison grinned. “I just saw you.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
He laughed and handed her a drink. Bubbles bounced merrily from the crystal flute. “I expect there will be an article about us in next week’s edition of Matchmaking for Wallflowers.”
“We’ve managed to shock some people,” Lucy said.
“I have something of a reputation,” he said, faux-modestly.
She raised her eyebrows. “I thought your reputation involved a lot of scowling.”
“That’s yours.”
“The plan is working.” He clinked her glass with his. “Congratulations, my dear.”
Lucy took a hasty sip of the cocktail, enjoying the slight alcoholic taste. The burn, unfortunately, did not distract her from Sturbridge. Doubtless, few things could.
Sturbridge tilted his head. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” Lucy’s voice squeaked, and she shook her head. “Naturally not.”
“Are you certain?” Sturbridge’s velvety voice sounded at her ear.
Lucy sighed. When had Sturbridge known her so well?
“One of the other women, Lady Letitia, was doubtful why you wanted to spend so much time with me.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Harrison said. “I hope you told her that.”
“I don’t think she believed me.”
“Well.” Harrison shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”
Lucy struggled to nod. “Indeed.”
“Egad.” A sour look descended upon Harrison’s face, one not relieved when he took another sip of the sweet punch. “It does matter, doesn’t it?”
“Her opinion is highly regarded.”
“Not by me.” Harrison snorted. “You should hear the Duke of Sandridge speak about her. I suppose I should invite her to my house party at Thornridge Castle.”
“Whatever for?”
“So she can see that I’m utterly besotted with you.” Harrison’s eyes shimmered, and his breath wafted over her.
Her nostrils flared involuntarily, and she inhaled his citrus scent. Her eyes flickered shut, before she remembered to keep them open.
He grinned. A waltz started to play. “May I have this dance?”
*
HARRISON SET DOWN HISpunch, enjoying seeing Lucy’s eyes widen.
“We’ve just had our dance,” Lucy said.
“Do you mean to say you’ve already tired of me?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No! Naturally not. I—” Lucy’s skin immediately pinkened, and he resisted the urge to trace the color on her cheeks.
He offered her his hand, and she grasped it. A surge of heat rushed through him at their touch, and soon he swept her into his arms for a waltz.
He guided her toward the windows on the other side of the ballroom, swirling her around to the music.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought we could enjoy the full feel of the dance floor.”
“But that’s not how one dances. At least not if one dances properly.”
“I’m not always proper. And neither are you.”
“I’m always proper,” she insisted.
“You sneaked into a duke’s townhouse.”
“Technically, your mother’s townhouse.”
“I’m not certain that makes much of a difference in the eyes of people.”
“It should. There was a female in the house.”
“There was no female in the room except you. That’s difficult for me to forget.”
She stared at him in puzzlement. Heavens, she was such an innocent. She was nothing like the opera singers and actresses with their knowing smiles, their easy references to various parts of their bodies. Meeting them had been at first exciting and then, as he grew older, dull. No, he could leave actresses for the young aristocrats straight out of Cambridge or Oxford to enjoy. He needed no more part in them, but he needed her.
In the next moment, he stopped before a balcony window.
“Is Lady Letitia watching?” he murmured.
She tilted her head. “I-I think so.”
“Excellent.” He led her behind the jacquard drapes, then opened the balcony door. “Follow me.”
Moonlight splashed over Lucy, and he focused his attention on his surroundings, taking in the dark shapes of the garden below, and the floral scent that wafted up. This was for pretend, after all. She wasn’t actually his lover. He wasn’t actually going to kiss her.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be alone here,” Lucy said.
“We can go inside whenever you want. I thought we could come here to make this courtship seem more realistic.”
She straightened immediately and was all business. He grinned. Sometimes she resembled her father.
“You’re hoping one of the gossipers will think we’re here by ourselves doing unthinkable things together.”
“Precisely.”
Moonlight shone over her face. Her features were perfect and exquisite, as if they’d been sculpted from the finest marble by the most gifted sculpturer. He longed to taste her.
He narrowed the distance between them, conscious of a slight scent of jasmine emanating from her skin. It was almost distracting, but he had something else on his mind. He peered toward the garden, but there were no sounds.
“You’re standing awfully close,” she said, and her voice trembled.
“That is how close people stand when they are courting.”
“Oh?” her voice wobbled.
He ran his fingers along her jaw, then he ran them through a curl of her hair. He twirled the silky auburn strand in his hand.
“If I were your beloved, I would kiss you right now,” he said.
“Then be my beloved,” Lucy murmured.
“Do you mean that?” Harrison’s voice sounded husky.
Kissing Lucy had absolutely been on his mind.
She drew back. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just acting, I—”
Harrison pulled her back to him, then kissed her.
*
LUCY WAS BEING KISSED. Truly, truly kissed. Harrison’s large arms clutched her in his arms. A woodsy scent wafted about her. The wind was calmer here, evidently hindered by the tall hedges that surrounded them. Harrison’s manor house was no longer visible.
There was only Harrison.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Harrison wasn’t supposed to be kissing her. Faux beloveds didn’t kiss each other. Perhaps they might do so if they were discovered underneath mistletoe, and they were somehow obligated to prove their affection, but they wouldn’t kiss otherwise.
They certainly wouldn’t kiss in privacy. Not every engaged couple kissed in privacy.
She pulled away, conscious of his firm hands still holding her. “You don’t need to do this.”
He studied her, and heat surged through her. It was tempting to melt into his arms, to pretend he truly cared for her, to pretend they were truly lovers. She wanted to lean against his sturdy chest as if it were her safe haven, and she wanted to kiss his succulent lips.
They were not truly lovers though, and she stepped away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You’ve very nice,” she said, “but...”
“But?”
She raised her chin. She wasn’t going to avert her gaze. “I’m fine. You needn’t pity kiss me.”
He widened his eyes. “You think I go about giving pity kisses?”
The air suddenly grew thicker, even though they remained outside.
“Perhaps?”
“I assure you that I do not do that,” he said, his voice stern.
“Perhaps you don’t give pity kisses to everyone, but...”
“You think I give them solely to you?”
She blinked. This was embarrassing. Still, she nodded her head. She didn’t want to lie to him. She had enough secrets from everyone else.
He took her hands in his solemnly. “Lucy Banks. I assure you that I very much want to kiss you.”
She was silent.
“Of course, if you don’t want to kiss me,” Harrison said, “I can understand. In fact, then I apologize for my forwardness.”
She stared at him.
“Forget what those women said. They enjoy being cruel. You were their nearest target, that’s all.”
“They didn’t think we were an appropriate match,” she said.
“Well, I happen to think we’re a very appropriate match.”
“Indeed?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Because I’m an heiress, and you’re a duke?”
A strange expression passed over his face, and he scrunched his lips together.
“That’s not important,” he said finally. “Because you are you. You are brave and kind and beautiful. Not every woman would have climbed into my library window solely to help their sister.”
Her heartbeat quickened. He wasn’t supposed to declare his affection for her. He wasn’t supposed to proclaim a desire to kiss her.
But that was precisely what he was doing.
“I think,” he said, “that it might be good to not think.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Thinking is good, but not always preferable.”
“What is preferable?”
Harrison grinned salaciously, and her heartbeat quickened.
Then, there was much more kissing.